Tyranny: Ice-Stalker
by DarthTrekkie2016
Summary: Found in the mountains, raised by Beastmen, new Fatebinder Rollin finds himself tossed into the final conquest of known Terratus. Among Archons, oath-breakers, iron walkers and choir-men, how will Rollin fair? What will he discover about himself and his chosen company? As Justice wills it...
1. Chapter 1

Tyranny: Ice-Stalker

Chapter 1: The Cold North

The Bounding Vipers were most always on the move. The mountains in the north were dotted with caves in which the tribe made their homes. They were ravenous, and plagued farmers and forest-creatures alike. But rumor had spread of some strange new hunter in this pack. Where once victims would be found torn open with claws, patrols were finding arrows in poor bystanders. Traps kept being dug up in the wood.

On top of this, locals noted that attacks were becoming more desperate each winter. Eventually, they had no choice but to contact the Disfavored. The Archon of War was gracious enough to deploy a section of the Iron Walkers. Dealing with these beasts would be simple. Whatever was the cause of these strange happenings, the Disfavored would capture or slaughter it.

…

Stone-Fang panted deeply, sniffing the air again in distress. His eyes darted left and right in search of this new scent. The scent of iron, carried north on the breeze. The Alpha had never been one to worry, but these past few years had been full of exceptions and strangeness. "Ice-Stalker. Come, come. Iron on wind. Carries from the south. Many men, large army, come to rip-tear-kill. We must find them. Hunt-stalk-prey." He nodded furiously, fire in his eyes.

A boy just short of fourteen years, clad in furs and leather, crept up to the ledge scanning the pass below. A crude short-bow was shouldered with a quiver of twenty simple arrows. Ice-Stalker steeled himself as another cold breeze blew. He had grown accustomed to the winter. "Iron, Stone-Fang? We should warn Prima. Hide, keep pack safe. Not enough to kill iron warrior."

Stone-Fang growled low, squinting. "Prima safe. Pack is hidden, shadows and stone. Will not be found. We must drive off intruder! Hunt with me!"

Ice-Stalker knew better than to anger the Alpha too much. Worst case, he thought, the Prima would give him another scar. "Mhm, mhm. Let's hunt. Will scare away ironclad."

With a wicked smile from Stone-Fang, the two crept quickly and silently in the thin snow. The sun began to slowly sink as Terratus Grave drifted over the opposite horizon. They closed in on the woods, darkness now almost completely fallen. Even in the shadow, Ice-Stalker found Gravelight plenty to see by. Sure enough, Stone-Fang's tracking was impeccable. They came to a stop a few yards north of a camp. A symbol was drawn onto the side of one, what looked to be claw-marks across a circle.

Ice-Stalker paused; sure he'd seen the symbol before. He grabbed Stone-Fang's arm, pointing to it. "Look. Mark of tribe. Who are intruders?"

Stone-Fang shook his head. "Does not matter Ice-Stalker. Do your work. Give sign when you need claws. Will rip-tear-slaughter."

Hesitantly, Ice-Stalker nodded, and moved up. He watched as a man clad in grey armor left the tent he had spotted. He joined a group of similar looking men at a fire, taking a drink from one of them. Deciding the tent might be important, Ice-Stalker quickly slipped through the flap. There, he found something that caused his eyes to light up. He whispered as he picked the iron device up. "Metal-teeth… Perfect, perfect. Yes yes…" He grabbed five of them, setting one up at the entrance of the tent, before sliding out himself.

Unseen, he did the same to two other tents, and then placed two in the forest west of the camp. He set himself up in a tree in that direction, overlooking the camp. He could just barely make out Stone-Fang, and signaled for him to wait.

Not much time passed before the first trap was found. Another iron-clad went to the tent for something, and there was a sudden sound of the bear trap snapping shut and crunching bone. "GAH! KYROS' NAME! FUCK!"

The rest of the men around the tent stood up in alert. "Adamus? Are you okay?"

"SOMEONE SET UP A DAMED BEAR TRAP! GAAAAAHHH!"

One of the other men darted to the second tent Ice-Stalker had found, filled with bright cyan vials. Just as before, the trap was sprung. "WHAT THE FUCK! AHHH! HERE TOO?!"

Plenty satisfied, Ice-Stalker readied his bow, and strung an arrow. One of the soldiers stood in horror at the fire, unsure of where to go. There was a part between the helm and armor, Ice-Stalker could see the color of flesh. He let the arrow fly with a _twang_. The man flailed, and fell to the ground. He stained the snow red.

"Someone's in the forest! We've got some rebel fuck-wits! Ready your shields, find them!"

Rebel? Ice-Stalker wasn't sure what they meant, but was pleased with his work. Now it was Stone-Fang's turn. He howled high, as the Prima had taught. Sure enough, Stone-Fang came storming forth.

"What was that? Sounded like a ki-FUCK ME!"

Halfway through his sentence, the Iron Walker found himself face to face with a massive Beastman. A second later, he fell to the ground, throat clawed open. Stone-Fang howled in delight, charging to another one. He leapt onto him. As he tore into him, another warrior charged forward with a spear. Ice-Stalker loosed another arrow, which sunk into the soldier's side. But it wasn't enough. Ice-Stalker watched in horror, an iron spear suddenly jutting through Stone-Fang. The great Beastman let out a dying howl, slowly quieting. Stunned, Ice-Stalker clambered further up the tree, hiding from view of the camp.

"Kyros' name… A Beastman? What kind of rebels are we dealing with?!"

"Who cares! Scour the forest! Find the damn archer. And get those two fixed up."

"Right… Graven Ashe protects."

Trying to steady and quiet his breath, Ice-Stalker thought deep. He was sure he had heard that before. But from where? His travels with the Bounding Vipers had never brought him against this type of warrior. He tried best as he could to fall asleep, sad that the soldiers seemed to avoid the rest of his traps. The image of Stone-Fang didn't leave him easily.

…

Just before the sun had risen, Ice-Stalker had slipped away from the camp. He rushed north, northwest, hurrying to reach the pack's home. He had to warn the Prima of these iron warriors. He knew she would be mad that Stone-Fang had died. She would probably keep him from a few hunts.

Just as he thought of her, he stumbled past his birthplace. The stone the Prima had found him at. Young, furless, and without a pack. The Bounding Vipers had taken him in, the Prima raising him as if he were their own. To make up for his dull claws, he had stolen a farmer's weapon, and taught himself its use. He had been past this spot countless times over the years. But for some reason, this time he was drawn to halt.

There was a feeling tugging on him, as if he had forgotten something important. Sure it had something to do with these iron soldiers; he obeyed his instinct and stopped. He surveyed the area carefully. After a moment, he stepped onto the stone, turning slowly to look all around. In the distance, he saw a faint flash of color.

Or, at least, he had thought so. As Ice-Stalker surveyed the area, it was just the typical white and brown of snow and bark. But he felt a strange wave of heat for a second, coming from the east. Sure he was onto something now, he pressed onward. He walked a few minutes before he found something. A stone circle surrounded a deep hole into the earth. Curiously, he looked around for similar structures. Sure enough, scattered here and there he found squares and other shapes of stone brick. From some of them, thin sheets of wood rose with jagged and warped edges. All over this area was a web of stone in the ground, connecting all the shapes.

Unusual as this was, he was sure he had seen it before. He walked slowly around the field. "Graven Ashe… Kyros' name… Kyros…" He wasn't sure why, but saying the name, he shivered as if from instinct. Like he did when the Prima was angry. Was Kyros the Prima of this iron pack?

Somehow, this sounded right. But why did he feel that way? Why did he feel like he knew this place? Suddenly, he saw a fluttering of cloth. A spike rose from the center of the stone web, a banner drifting in the soft wind. It was old and slightly torn. Ice-Stalker rounded it, observing the color and symbol. The name still sat in his mind. As he studied the symbol, it seemed to grow louder and louder with each repetition. "Kyros…. Kyros…. **Kyros** … **KYROS**!"

He grasped his head, pain shooting through it. Why was that name so damn familiar? More importantly… Why was he so afraid? Suddenly, heat surrounded him again. He opened his eyes to a burning orang light. The sky was dark, Terratus Grave and the Interloper dancing high in the sky. All around him, wooden structures jutted from the stone foundations. Fire danced across them all.

After taking in this sudden change, Ice-Stalker spotted a crowd of terrified people. They screamed in terror as ironclad warriors butchered them with swords and spears. No one was safe from them, not men, women, or children. With a crash, an old man in robes was tossed through the door of the largest building. As he tried to rise to his knees, he looked up in horror. "Please, mercy! We have only ever served Kyros faithfully! I meant no offence to them or your Archon! I beg of you!"

The tall warrior held his blade to the man's neck. "Silence! Graven Ashe will suffer not your treacherous ideas to fester. You pass this cancerous dissent to your children and followers."

"Our children…" Ice-Stalker, ever vigilant, watched the old man's eyes dart through the buildings. Following his gaze, he spotted a woman and a small child running into the forest, through the flames. He turned back to the old man. He was smiling, but he clearly knew his story was through. "Our children will be better than us. To hell with you and your Archons. To hell with Kyr-" Before he could finish, his neck was slit, and he fell to the floor.

Wanting to escape the fire and slaughter, Ice-Stalker followed the woman and child, sprinting to find them. His feet carried him as though he had travelled the path a thousand times. He felt a sense of dread, and thought deep down he knew where they were going.

Sure enough, after a few moments of running, he came to a halt before a clearing. There, the woman had sat the child on a large stone. She nodded to him, before drawing a bronze knife and rushing back to the village. He was too far to hear, but he already knew what she had said.

"Rollin… Gods… Rollin, stay here, alright? Aunty Maroth will be here soon. I have to go help your father. No, no, don't be afraid. Never afraid. There we are. Who's my brave hero, huh? Stay here. Just an hour, I'm sure… I love you, Rollin."

There he waited. He sat for the whole night, only rousing from his stillness when a curious Beastwoman stepped out from the forest. He had always been warned about the vicious Beastmen. But he kept his promise. Never afraid.

Ice-Stalker stood again at the stone, breathing deeply. Tears stained his face, biting into him from the cold. Without pausing to steady his breath, he tore off at a sprint into the mountains. He had to find the Prima. He couldn't let it happen again.

…

Spine-Render sat back, leaning against the cold stone wall. The winter was sure to be another harsh one. The Bounding Vipers now barely filled half of these caves. They grew smaller each year. She gazed to the entrance again in mild worry. Stone-Fang and Ice-Stalker had not returned yet. Knowing the two of them, they were either finally dead or bringing back a massive prize.

With another quick smell, she felt a wave of relief. Ice-Stalker fell through the entrance to the caves, and she bounded up to him. "Ice-Stalker! Make me afraid again! Why were you gone for night? Bring home great prey? Where is Stone-Fang?" She paused, seeing Ice-Stalker trying to catch his breath, hand raised. She slumped down, waiting patiently for him to stop hacking.

"Spine-Render… Prima… I… Stone-Fang is dead. Iron soldier has killed him! Men of Kyros!"

The Prima's eyes widened, and she rose suddenly into Ice-Stalker's face. "What? Ice-Stalker, where did you hear name?"

He stared into her eyes, head shaking. "Iron soldiers speak of them. Spine-Render, I… I saw it. Fire, death, iron. Soldiers came to kill old pack. My father… Mother…" He looked up again to her, with new resolve. "They will not again."

Spine-Render shook her head, unsure of what to do. Before she could answer, one of the pack's lookouts ran in through the entrance. "Prima! Men in iron, pointed weapons! They come to kill Beastmen! Must run-hide-live!"

Nodding, she howled into the caves. As her pack rushed past her, she grabbed Ice-Stalker's shoulder. "Ice-Stalker! You and warriors fight back iron men. Come back to Prima. Yes?"

Pain clearly on his face, he looked up to her. "I was called… Rollin? What… What am I?"

A mix of anger and sadness tearing her apart, she shook him slightly. "You are Ice-Stalker. Hunter! Beastman! … Alpha."

Breathing steady, he slowly nodded. "I will fight them. Shoot-kill-slow. You must run. Take pack far."

"You will find me, yes, yes?"

He didn't answer, instead turning to walk out. He drew his bow, and nodded to his fellow warriors. They were few in number. Four Beastwomen and three Beastmen. Not counting himself of course. The numbers they faced would surely overwhelm them. But that hardly mattered. All that was important was that the pack escaped. He was ready to give his life for the Prima.

Soon enough, he saw the soldiers climbing around the edge, entering the pass. As one began to point to him, he loosed an arrow into the man's face. He fell immediately. The man following him stared shortly before drawing his sword. "Holy shit… Guys, the archer's with the Beastmen!"

"What? In the name of… Take that archer alive! Kill any beasts you find."

Barring his teeth and growling with his pack, Ice-Stalker shot again. Sixteen left. As his pack rushed forward to fight with teeth and claws, he fired again and again, trying to aim for exposed flesh. Only a few minutes passed before he realized just how futile this really was. As the soldiers butchered the last Beastwoman, Ice-Stalker realized he was out of arrows.

He stood, mind racing for a solution. He heard a rasp as one of the soldiers sheathed his blade. "Alright now, archer. Stand down, and we might be merciful." He approached slowly, fists clenched. "I have to admit, you are one talented son of a bi- GAH!"

Ice-Stalker shut him up with a smack across the face. He swung his bow like a staff, and sent the soldier to the floor, stomping his foot into the man's neck. He glared as two more charged forward, swords away. He smiled under his scarf. He tackled one, kicking the other in the gut. Though he toppled one, the man he kicked quickly righted himself. They grabbed him by his arms, dragging him off their comrade. As he kicked and fought, a metal boot was brought swiftly into his stomach.

…

At the bottom of a hastily constructed, shallow pit, Ice-Stalker paced, glaring up. The Disfavored crowd cheered and yelled, another kill for their pet wild child. Blood stained his hands, sword cast aside. Another rebel dead. He would eat well tonight. He hated them, but they had showed him much in battle. He would repay them with swift death.

At least, that's how Iron Guard Mimek thought he looked. He never liked that they dragged the kid around like this. He was something remarkable, sure. But he'd fit better in a Chorus camp than with the elite. He looked on in distaste as a Crescent Runner jogged up. She saluted. "Sir, a missive for you."

"A missive? Who sent it? Are we being summoned by the Archon?"

"No sir. Graven Ashe's orders are currently still standing. Sir… It's from the Court." She brushed the falling snow from her hair, and pulled a scroll from her bag.

Mimek nodded, somewhat in awe. "Very well. Go and eat something soldier. Graven Ashe protects."

"Yes sir." She returned the Iron Guard's salute and hurried away. As she did, Mimek opened the message. He scanned it, taking in the formality of the handwriting and voice. As he began to read properly, he prayed to Ashe that none of his men had inspired the Adjudicator's rancor.

"To the Jottenfeld Disfavored Camp's Commander. Greetings. I am Fatebinder Eloen. You may relax; your men have not broken any laws. Not that the Court is aware of, anyhow. No. I write you out of curiosity, to confirm rumors for the Adjudicator. Is it true you have found a child among the Bounding Viper pack? If this is the case, Tunon would request you send them on their way at once. He is a curiosity, and clearly a survivor. Our Archon of Justice would very much like to see this child. If this is merely a rumor, please just send a missive. The Court's Thanks."

Mimek glanced from the note to the pit. Thank Kyros. "Hey, you lot! Get that kid in his cage. We've found somewhere to send him!"

End Chapter 1…

Hey! Darth Trekkie here! I've not been writing a lot of fanfic recently. I've been doing some original writing (Darth Trekkie on FictionPress (Shameless self-promo)), and classes mean a bit of a time limitation. But recently, I've been falling in love with Tyranny and Terratus. It's much easier, I feel, to write in this world, with this story. So this will be (sort of) my experience in the game. The first few chapters will actually be the origin and conquest. There's a lot of story there that I don't really want to skip through. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Gatecrashing

The year was 428. It had been six years since they plucked him from the wilds. Six years since he had been brought before the Adjudicator, the Archon of Justice Tunon. Four years since he had learned the way of letters and words. Three since learning to hone his craft with the bow, and realized he even had ability with lightning magic. Finally, a year and a half ago he had completed his tutelage in the Overlord's world, Their military, and Their law.

Now, Fatebinder Rollin stood on the edge of another sheer cliff, overlooking a land far south from where he once tread. Beside him knelt two members of the Scarlet Chorus' horde, peasants taken from a farming village along the march. These two were at least making the best of their unenviable situation, taking to their new soldiering life well enough.

"Kyros' name… So… That's them, huh? That gate?" 

"The Gates of Judgement. Don't waste your breath in awe." Rollin had seen the Disfavored scouts' advance reports, but now that the main army approached, he had wanted to see it for himself. He was almost disappointed. Sure enough, they shone bright in the afternoon sun, light making the white stone and the glint of bronze quite visible from this distance. But Rollin could already see that several spots of bronze were unmoving, false sentinels meant to visually bolster their ranks. The soldiers Rollin could see were hardly professional. They lacked the uniformity of a proper army, while also being without the numbers of a proper horde. This was the force the Bastard Tier was going to try and repel the Overlord with.

How he'd enjoy driving that notion from their heads.

Night was almost falling by the time the armies approached. The Scarlet Chorus had splintered, taking paths further to the west and east, planning to make battle at several small fortresses the scouts had mapped out. Rollin would be joining the forces of Graven Ashe, the legions of the Disfavored. Iron boots stomped along the dirt, iron weapons glinting in the waning light. Rollin himself had begun to make use of iron arrows. All that stood between them was a gate in the middle of nowhere and a host of bronze wielding Tiersmen. A gate that was now opening.

From it, in what seemed almost a mockery of the Disfavored's own approach, marched a loosely ranked force of the Tiersmen. They were even trying to properly organize, with a line of spears before their swordsmen.

When the defenders halted and parted, allowing two commanders forward, Rollin was pleased to see the Disfavored halt as well. The enemy leader's escort carried a plain blue standard.

Rollin made his way forward, accompanied by a Stone Shield. The commander at least seemed more put together than his troop. She saluted him as he approached. "I'm glad to see we can seek discourse. So do you speak for this army?"

He returned her salute with a slight bow. "I speak as a Fatebinder, agent of the Court and voice of the Overlord's law. You have come with the blue, yet your army readies for battle."

"I am Visellia, appointed commander of this army. I bring word directly from the Bastard City. You will find the Tiers unyielding, their gates closed to you. We beseech you. End this before it begins, Fatebinder. Has your Overlord not taken enough to sate their bloodlust?"

Rollin's face was as best a mask as he could muster. He often envied his Archon, having a real mask would make dealing with others easier. It would more easily hide his disdain for this woman. "Do not speak as if you know my Overlord's will. I would worry more about the Scarlet Chorus, and what blood they lust for. Kyros' order has been given, and the Tiers shall be Theirs. I will gladly offer you the chance to surrender, if you truly wish to spare your people unnecessary loss."

She sighed deeply, and shook her head. "You speak so much of law and peace, and yet there is no path you people see beyond conquest. Very well. The Gates of Judgement will remain barred to you, so long as true Tiersmen draw breath."

With that, she and her bodyguard made their way back through the ranks. Rollin returned to his position. Only a moment left then, before the chaos.

Sure enough, as soon as the two were past the closing gates, and the blue banner was out of sight, the Bastard City's ragtag army charged forward. A meager rain of arrows fell from the heights of the Gates. The Disfavored do as they always do. The stone shields formed a phalanx, and slowly marched to meet the enemy advance. Crescent runners stood behind this main line of spear and shield, hurling javelins and shooting arrows. Archers were rarer among Graven Ashe's legion, most of his skirmishers using the javelins.

Throughout the battle, as foolhardy mercs found themselves stuck upon Disfavored spears, Rollin sent arrows over soldiers' shoulders, claiming a fair number for himself. When those ran out, he walked among the skirmishers, lending his magic lightning to their javelins.

The battle lasted hardly an hour, the mercenaries pinned between the crushing advance and the sealed Gates of Judgement. Rollin was quite pleased to find that there was a small number of unharmed surrenderers. They were quickly shackled or put to work for the legion.

While detachments of the army did go around the Gates, Rollin agreed when Ashe insisted on ramming the Gates open. It was more of a symbolic gesture than important moment, the Disfavored marching through the shattered Gates of Judgement. But Rollin agreed that scouts bringing back reports of this would help demoralize the Bastard City. The Scarlet Chorus joined with them a few days later. Their victories had been similarly easy. The Voices did seem to take some issue with Graven Ashe being the one to claim the Gates. But they soon enough agreed that it didn't matter. The true prize of the Bastard Tier sat only a few hundred miles south.

…

Rollin was growing impatient. The two armies had made camp after moving through the Gates of Judgement. After that, discounting a few minor skirmishes, no progress had been made in days. Already, he could see why Tunon had sent a Fatebinder this early in the campaign. The Archons of War and Secrets had been debating tirelessly as to what would become of the prisoners. Graven Ashe demanded they be joined with the slave forces of the Disfavored. The Voices insisted that these new prisoners be given to the vanguard of their force. While this was the tradition, and more men would certainly help in the conquest, the Chorus was still at near full strength.

Finally, it seemed like the two of them had grown tired of arguing with one another. On the night of the sixth day both a crescent runner and a scarlet fury came to his tent.

"Good Binder, apologies for the intrusion. My lord the Archon of War, as you know, has been occupied with the Archon of Secrets recently. He had decided that since the Voices cannot be persuaded by reason alone, that the words of a Fatebinder are needed. If you could order the release of the captives to the Disfavored, we could more quickly begin our march again. Think on it, is all the lord asks."

"Hey, Binder. I know, I know, it's late. I figured you'd be up doing whatever it is you do anyway. Look, I know you're a northman too, sorta… Kinda… But listen, you have to see the point the Chorus has here, yeah? More swords is always good. Besides, it's always hard on the enemy to fight their countrymen turned traitors. Just consider it, yeah? The Voices think you'll get it."

Technically, they both had a point. The psychological effects on the enemy and the bolstering of ranks was important, no question. But Rollin knew that wars were won through logistics as well. Slaves were needed, to move the caravans, build the palisades, dig the trenches, provide the soldiers… Stress relief.

Ultimately, both Archons had left the decision to him. Rollin wrote up his official decision that same night, and slept better knowing the campaign would resume soon.

" _The question of what to do with the surviving enemies from the Gates of Judgement has brought our advance to a stop. At the request of both Archon of War, Graven Ashe, and Archon of Secrets, The Voices of Nerat, the final decision has fallen to myself. Due to the prisoners resulting from the battle at the Gates, and considering that the Scarlet Chorus' manpower was largely untouched by the initial battles, the captives will be given to the Disfavored for enslavement. Thus is my decision, and is therefore Tunon's word._

 _Rollin, Fatebinder of Tunon the Adjudicator_ "

Rollin found the camps quieter, the arguments largely quelled. Sure enough, he received some dirty looks from Choirmen higher up, but there were far more enthusiastic salutes from Ashe's men. It didn't matter to him, either way. What pleased him was that two days later, the camps had been broken down, the slaves hauled the equipment, and the armies began the march to the Bastard City.

…

The night was hardly quiet. It had been raining for several hours, and low grumblings of lightning echoed in the distance. The lightning strikes helped cover up the sounds of the grappling hooks latching onto the crenellations of the Bastard City's walls. The army had made camp hours from here, and had focused for the last few days on capturing and looting small villages and farmsteads. Slaves and food were captured, new bodies added to the Chorus, and the armies seemed content.

No doubt the Bastard City and their nobles believed the armies were setting up for a lengthy siege. Sure enough, the Disfavored and the Chorus could easily wait for the city to starve and surrender. But that wouldn't please Kyros. The Overlord expected a quick victory, and demanded efficiency and haste from Their minions. Rollin intended to show that efficiency tonight. The Choirmen and Disfavored forces lay in wait at the tree line, awaiting the signal. Meanwhile, both Choirmen and iron walkers made their way up the walls, clambering the ropes.

The sentinels patrolling this segment quickly found their mouths covered and their throats slit. Scarlet furies led the rest of the Choirmen, the rest of them the horde. Rollin nodded to them.

With a hollar, the Choirmen leapt to the rooftops below them. The townsmen and guards would suddenly have the sudden Scarlet Chorus raid to deal with. But now the armies had heard the cries, and were no doubt advancing. Rollin took the lead of the Disfavored as they ran along the walls, killing the sentinels they found and disabling some of the defensive machinery.

"What was that? Did you hear that? Hey, hold on… Are those torche-" _**SLAM**_ Rollin kicked in the door to the main gatehouse, and put an arrow through the neck of the chatty guardsman. His comrade, falling from his chair and spilling his drink on the floor, a crescent runner rammed a dagger through his head.

Rollin looked out over the city. The Scarlet Chorus was bringing panic and confusion to the City, the armies of Kyros were approaching, and the main gate was open. By tomorrow, the Bastard Tier would belong to the Overlord.

It had taken much effort to convince the Archons to work together. But the overarching goal of taking the city was more important than any disagreements between the two of them. Rollin joined the forces marching through the gates, hearing the sounds of scattered battle and screaming citizens. The Disfavored phalanx marched down the main road, skewering the guards who hadn't yet gone after the initial Chorus raiders. Choirmen poured around them, down side streets and into houses and buildings. He had ordered the forces to be somewhat civil, to target only the armed and resisting populace. No doubt he'd still have to order some repercussions to the hordes over the coming weeks.

The nobles of the Bastard City attempted to hold out, giving it all they could. Once the initial confusion had worn down, line after line of mercenaries sat between the phalanx and the city center. Thankfully, the scarlet furies he had sent into town had done their work, disabling several defensive machines. Had the catapults or ballistae been fired on the phalanx, taking the city might have been a challenge. Instead, it was a simple march to victory.

The nobles only properly surrendered when Rollin put an arrow through the face of one who had come out to challenge him. The fool had forgotten to bring the blue. He was tired of humoring them. It was time to instill Kyros' rule.

…

The set up for the occupation was going smoothly. Rollin had concluded the last of the trials regarding the Choirmen going too far, and had dealt with establishing the division of property and loot. It seemed like the Bastard City was finally submitting.

Though perhaps that had been more a result of the Fallowing than anything Rollin had done. The Archon of Stone, Cairn, had carried out a ritual of some kind with his disciples. Unfortunately, Rollin hadn't been notified of this before the magic took hold. Now, the lands that had belonged to the lands of the Bastard Tier's nobles were made lifeless and sick, overcome with blight and rot. While this might displease the Overlord, Rollin supposed the Archons were right in saying that it had quelled the rebellions in Their new territory.

Finally, the armies were discussing their next move. After all, the Tiers still had lands left to conquer. He looked again, out over the fields beyond the Bastard City's walls, to the massive structure of the Oldwalls in the distance. Lethian's Crossing...


End file.
